


Taking the Cake

by Caedmon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019, M/M, No beta - We die like mne, Petty Theft, Rated T for mild implied smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Aziraphale has noticed his handsome neighbor, but hasn't had an excuse (or the nerve) to talk to him. He gets his chance, though, when a bakery delivers a package to the wrong door a few days before Christmas and his neighbor comes knocking.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 100
Kudos: 571
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs, Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019, Good Omens Human AUs, Ineffable Humans AU, That Good Good Omens Fic





	Taking the Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> This is a gift for katsinspaxe in the Good Omens Holiday Swap! I hope you enjoy it, and that you have the happiest of holidays!
> 
> Inspired by 'the one with the pies' by lostinfic, which was in turn inspired by an episode of Friends - "The One With The Cheesecakes". I couldn't resist using the idea for Aziraphale and Crowley. Thank you, lostinfic, for being a good sport and letting me steal your idea!
> 
> Comments and kudos are the beating heart of the muse - thank you for them!

Aziraphale was just turning the page of a _very_ interesting book, contemplating getting up and getting himself a snack, when a knock came at his door. He looked up at the sound, wondering who it could be, then sat his book to the side and went to answer it. Perhaps it was a delivery (although he wasn’t expecting one) - or maybe just someone knocking on the wrong door. It happened often enough, living in such a large building of flats where everyone had identical doors.

He opened the door with a pleasant expression to find his recently-moved-in neighbor standing there with a brown, string-tied box in hand. The man was tall and lean with ginger hair, dressed very stylishly in all black, black sunglasses over his eyes, and was _devastatingly_ handsome. Aziraphale had noticed him coming and going in the building for the last few months, but hadn’t ever had a reason - or the nerve - to speak. Even now, he felt the words drying up in his mouth in the face of his gorgeous neighbor. Then the man _smiled_ , and Aziraphale suddenly felt a little wobbly. 

“Hi,” the man said, almost in a drawl. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale answered with a somewhat nervous smile, gripping the door a little more tightly to keep himself upright. 

The man held up the box in his hands. “I believe this is yours. It was delivered to my flat by mistake.”

Aziraphale peered at the box. “I’m not expecting any packages…”

“You’re David Fowler, right?”

He felt himself deflate a little, figuring this misunderstanding would lead to the end of their interaction. “No, I’m sorry. My name is Aziraphale Fell.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think Mr. Fowler lives down the hall, last flat on the left, before the lift.”

“I see.”

The man looked a little crestfallen, and Aziraphale didn’t like seeing that look on his face. He’d much prefer to see his neighbor smiling, so he smiled gently.

“It was awfully kind of you to bring it here, though,” he offered.

The man cringed a little and made a sound that sounded like _'ngk'_ , but didn’t acknowledge what he’d said. “I, um, I saw that it was from a bakery and thought maybe you’d like a little company while you ate it.”

Aziraphale was stunned. This handsome stranger had sought him out to spend time with him? Oh, he was all aflutter.

“It’s from a bakery, you say?” he asked, temptation pulling at him.

“Yes. It was just delivered a few minutes ago, and it smells fresh. Seems a shame to let someone else have it, when it so conveniently fell into our laps, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he took a deep sniff, catching the scent wafting from the box. It smelled heavenly, absolutely divine, and if he said ‘yes’, he’d get to spend some more time with the man at the door. He felt his determination to do the right thing wavering. 

“I don’t know,” he protested weakly, “It’s getting close to Christmas. Mr. Fowler may need this baked good to serve at a party or something.”

The red haired man gave him a lopsided smile. “Can you think of one person in the whole world who would appreciate this cake more than you or I would?”

Oh, how Aziraphale was tempted. It would be so easy to give in and share this dessert - whatever it was - with this handsome man. And he wanted to so badly.

“But Mr. Fowler --”

“Will call the bakery when he doesn’t get his cake and they’ll figure out the mistake. Then he’ll get another cake delivered to him for free.”

It was true, that was what was most likely to happen. There wouldn’t be any harm, not really. And best of all, he’d get to spend some time with his alluring neighbor, perhaps get to know him a bit - which Aziraphale found he _really_ wanted to do.

“Oh, alright,” he said, caving. The other man smiled bright enough to outshine the sun, and Aziraphale felt his heart flutter again.

“Excellent,” the man said, “Can I come in?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” He held the door open and allowed the handsome stranger to come into his flat, then closed the door behind them. 

“I’m Crowley, by the way,” the man said as Aziraphale bustled in, coming to a stop in front of him. The man didn’t make a move to remove his sunglasses, and Aziraphale was oddly disappointed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowley.”

“No, no. Just Crowley, please. Mr. Crowley was my father.”

Azriaphale gave him a look. “Do you have a first name?”

“Anthony,” Crowley replied. “But nobody calls me that. Really, Crowley suits me best.”

He smiled. “Alright, then, I’ll call you Crowley.”

They stood facing each other silently for a moment in Aziraphale’s lounge, and he struggled to think of what to say. Nothing clever or witty was coming to him. 

Crowley raised the bakery box a bit. “Did you want to…?”

“Oh! Yes! I’ll just get us some plates and forks, shall I? Come, you can sit that down on the table.”

Crowley followed him into the small kitchen, obediently sitting the box down on the table while Aziraphale bustled around, looking for plates and forks. When he turned back around, Crowley was looking around at the stacks of books.

“This is a nice place you’ve got here,” he said conversationally.

Aziraphale smiled. “Rather a lot like your flat, I would imagine.”

Crowley gave him a grin. “A bit, but our decorating styles are rather different.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. My flat is barely decorated at all, unless you want to count the plants.”

Aziraphale slid into his usual seat at the table and Crowley sat across from him. “You have plants?”

Crowley nodded. “A few, yeah.”

“How interesting. I’ve often thought about bringing a plant of some sort in here to liven the place up a bit. Perhaps you could recommend something for me?”

The ginger man beamed. “I’d love to.”

Aziraphale smiled and opened the box, giving a little gasp of delight when he saw what was inside. It was a cake, beautifully decorated with holly leaves and a Christmas tree. 

“Oh, it’s lovely,” he exclaimed.

Crowley nodded. “It is,” he agreed.

“It almost seems a shame to cut it.”

“Nah. Cakes were meant to be enjoyed, not just looked at.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale sighed, but with a smile. “Here goes nothing.”

He cut into the cake, slicing himself and Crowley each a generous piece and laying them on plates. Then he passed the plate over to Crowley and picked up his own fork, excited to dig in. 

The first bite was a revelation. The cake was moist and flavorful, the buttercream was light and airy, and the flavors mixed wonderfully on his tongue. He closed his eyes and let out a little moan of bliss. 

“That good?” Crowley asked, but his voice sounded a bit strangled. Azriaphale opened his eyes to see if he was okay, and Crowley cleared his throat and looked down at his own cake.

“It’s _divine_ ,” he answered with feeling. It may have been gained in a dishonest way, but this cake was the best thing Aziraphale had ever tasted.

“Good, that’s good,” Crowley said, spearing his own cake.

Aziraphale raised another bite to his lips. This one was somehow better than the first, and he couldn’t help the little sound he made. 

Crowley cleared his throat again from across the table and shifted in his seat. “So, uh. How long have you lived here?”

“Three years in February. You?”

“I just moved in back in June.”

That explained why Aziraphale hadn’t seen him around before the summer. “Do you like it?”

Crowley shrugged. “It’s nice, I suppose. I could deal with a bit more hot water, but I’m practically cold-blooded, so that might just be me.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, I don’t believe you’re cold-blooded.”

“No, really. I might as well be a snake. I’m nearly _always_ cold.”

“Well, it _has_ been colder than usual lately.”

They chatted lightly over their cake, talking about all manner of topics. Aziraphale learned that Crowley was what he called a ‘professional tempter’ - he was employed by companies and wealthy families to test the loyalty of prospective employees or mates. Aziraphale found this fascinating, and figured that was how he’d been so easily tempted into taking the cake. He was usually quite upstanding, but he’d succumbed quite easily to petty theft.

“How about you?” Crowley asked politely. “What does the man with the unique name do?”

Aziraphale was a bit shy to answer. “Nothing so exciting as you, I daresay. I’m a bookshop owner.”

Crowley gave him a sly smile, then glanced around at the stacks. “Seems you have half a shop’s worth here.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks colored. “You must think me a terrible bore.”

“On the contrary. I find you very interesting.”

He gave a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

Aziraphale bit his lip in pleasure. Unless he was very much mistaken, this gorgeous creature was flirting with him - and he was _delighted._ It had been years since anyone had taken an interest in him, and for it to be a man this handsome and interesting? Aizraphale was flattered beyond words - and deeply, deeply attracted.

They chatted some more, and Aziraphale discovered why Crowley hadn’t removed his sunglasses. 

“I’m rather sensitive to light, particularly certain types of light. More than an hour or so under LED light bulbs and I end up with a terrific headache.”

“Oh, you poor dear. Well, my lightbulbs are traditional, if that helps.”

“It actually does. Do you mind if I take them off?”

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered in his chest. “Oh, not at all.”

The gorgeous, ginger man removed his sunglasses and Aziraphale nearly gasped. His eyes were a light brown, almost golden, and absolutely _stunning_. He could very easily see himself getting lost in those eyes.

“They’re lovely, dear,” he managed, flushing bright red. To his very great surprise, Crowley flushed, too.

“More cake?” he offered, not wanting this time together to end. 

“Please.”

Aziraphale cut both of them a second slice.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale was still thinking about the visit with Crowley three days later. It had been so nice spending time with him, and Crowley was so lovely - in every conceivable way. By the time he had left that night, Aziraphale had been beset with _feelings_ \- the likes of which he hadn’t had in many years. He wanted to see _more_ of Crowley, but couldn’t think of a clever way to express that desire. Besides that, he wasn’t entirely sure that his advances would be welcomed. Sure, he had suspected Crowley was flirting, but he may well have just been friendly. The more he thought about it in the quiet of his flat, the more likely that seemed. It was most likely that Crowley had simply wanted to meet his neighbor and Aziraphale, who hadn’t had a relationship with anything but a book in several years, had mistaken his intentions. Why, Crowley probably had a _girlfriend_ or something, and Aziraphale would be best served to put the ginger man out of his thoughts.

Except he _couldn’t_. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Crowley’s smiling face. Every time he glanced at his little kitchen table, he thought of the hours he’d spent there, chatting with Crowley. And when he ate the leftovers of the cake they’d nicked, he wondered what it would be like to kiss those thin lips. 

Blister it all, Aziraphale had a bonafide _crush_.

He did his best to will it away. He told himself that sharing cake with Crowley was a one-time thing and was not likely to happen again. He told himself that Crowley was almost certainly not interested in him the way _he_ was interested in _Crowley_ , that all the romantic interest was one-sided. He told himself he was being stupid, and to get over it.

It didn’t help. 

So, three days after they’d shared cake, Aziraphale was still lecturing himself as he was getting ready to go out for the evening. He had a bit of holiday shopping to do, and figured he’d get some dinner while he was out. Perhaps sushi from his favorite place. That would be scrummy. And maybe it would clear his head from thoughts of his neighbor.

He tied his scarf around his neck and opened his door, stepping into the hall. As he’d done every time he’d left his flat for the last three days, he glanced over at Crowley’s door. He’d just had time to take in the string-tied box sitting at his neighbor’s doorstep when the door opened and Crowley stepped out, narrowly missing the box. He froze when he saw it, then glanced up at Aziraphale. His face spread into a bright smile, and he said, “Hello!”

Aziraphale could feel himself blushing, but replied, “Hello, yourself. It looks as if you’ve got a package there.”

Crowley bent over and retrieved the package, looking at it as he stood back up. “David Fowler again. It looks like the baker made another mistake.”

“Seems so,” Aziraphale said.

The other man’s smile turned mischievous. “Should we…?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said with regret. “Not this time. We should probably just take it to Mr. Fowler’s door and leave it.”

Crowley looked a little disappointed but nodded. “You’re probably right.”

For a moment, Aziraphale was at a loss for what to say, then Crowley broke the silence.

“You were heading out?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I was just off to do a little shopping for Christmas and pick up some dinner.”

Crowley looked down at the package in his hands, then back up at Aziraphale. “Tell you what. I’ll deposit this cake safely on Fowler’s doorstep if you’ll let me take you to dinner.”

Aziraphale’s face flushed hot and he stammered. “Oh, I don’t know… I really shouldn’t like to impose…”

“It’s not an imposition. I _want_ to take you to dinner. And I know just the place. Let me? Otherwise, I’ll have to talk you into stealing this cake so we can share it again,” he teased.

It seemed impossible to deny that Crowley was flirting now, and Aziraphale was positively over the moon. “You devilish thing,” he teased back. “Alright. Let’s get some dinner - if you promise to put that cake on Fowler’s doorstep.”

Crowley’s smile was huge and near blinding. “Sure. Absolutely. Whatever you want.” He closed his door, locking it, and started towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale locked his own door while Crowley waited patiently, box in hand, then the two started down the corridor together, towards the lift and Fowler’s flat. With a wink, Crowley stooped and lay the bakery box on Fowler’s doorstep, then pressed the doorbell. Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to Aziraphale with a bright smile. “Shall we?”

Aziraphale smiled back, his insides fluttering pleasantly. “Yes, let’s.”

~*~O~*~

It had been a _wonderful_ evening. Crowley had shocked Aziraphale by taking him to the Ritz for dinner, explaining that he was there quite a lot on business, so he didn’t need a reservation. Aziraphale had been floored, but did his best to keep his composure - even as he fell a little farther under Crowley’s spell. Conversation had been so easy - they’d talked like they’d known each other for six thousand years. Crowley had asked about the origins of Aziraphale’s name over a delectable dinner, and Aziraphale had explained that his parents had been fascinated by angels. Crowley had given him a lopsided smile and said, “I am, too.” Then, from that moment, he’d called Aziraphale ‘angel’. Every time he did, Azirphale’s heart skipped in his chest.

After dinner, Crowley had taken him to a shopping district and they’d shopped for Christmas. He’d assumed Crowley would get bored, going from shop to shop, but the red haired man seemed perfectly at ease. If there had been any remaining doubt that Crowley was attracted to him, it was erased after a couple of hours in the shops. Crowley touched him unnecessarily: little touches to the elbow or the small of the back at first, but after the third shop, Crowley offered his arm and Aziraphale took it gladly. From that moment, his hand had been nestled in the crook of Crowey’s elbow if it wasn’t occupied doing something else. And even then, as soon as possible, he’d had his hand right back in Crowley’s arm. Crowley never complained about the tedium of shopping, and carried Aziraphale’s bag like a perfect gentleman. 

It seemed his neighbor was full of delightful surprises, and with every passing moment, Aziraphale fell deeper and deeper into something he didn’t dare name yet.

They were about two blocks from their building, still arm in arm, when Crowley surprised him yet again. 

“I was looking for an excuse to talk to you, you know,” he remarked casually, changing the subject. 

Aziraphale looked up at him with wide, surprised eyes. “You were?”

Crowley nodded, his cheeks slightly red. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or his confession. “I did. I saw you coming and going sometimes and I just… I don’t know. You looked like someone I wanted to know. But I couldn’t think of any way to introduce myself. I was just steeling myself to come knock when that cake was delivered to my flat by mistake and I saw my opportunity.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Aziraphale said with feeling. 

“I knew your name wasn’t David Fowler. I just wanted a chance to talk to you.”

Crowley lowered his arm, causing Aziraphale to let go. But his hand wasn’t unoccupied long before Crowley had captured it in his own long-fingered hand. Aziraphale’s heart beat an exultant rhythm. 

“Now _I_ have a confession to make,” Aziraphale said as they approached their building.

“What is it, angel?” Crowley questioned, his thumb running along the back of Aziraphale’s.

“I was looking for an excuse to talk to you again, myself, after we shared the cake. I’m not terribly creative, though, and couldn’t come up with anything. I’d resolved to give myself until after Christmas, then I was going to come back to your door and ask you over for New Year’s.”

Crowley pressed the button to call the lift, smiling. “You were?”

“That was my plan, yes.”

“What’s your plan now?”

Aziraphale flushed. “Well, I’d still very much like to spend New Year’s with you, if you’re amenable.”

Crowley’s answering smile was bright. “I’ll say yes on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That you let me see you again before New Year’s. Hopefully more than once.”

Aziraphale giggled. “I may be able to accommodate that. How many times, pray tell?”

Crowley pretended to be considering. “Well, there are ten days until the New Year, so… I don’t know… how about twelve?”

“Twelve!” Aziraphale exclaimed with a laugh.

The red haired man grinned behind his sunglasses. “You’re right, I should ask for more. At least fifteen.”

Aziraphale was laughing when the lift doors opened and they stepped into the corridor, still hand in hand. Both froze, however, when they spotted the brown, string-tied box still sitting on Mr. Fowler’s doorstep where Crowley had left it several hours before. Both men stared at it for a moment, then glanced at each other, smiles blooming on their faces. 

“Should we?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“It would be the perfect finish to a lovely evening. The best evening of my life.”

“Really?” Aziraphale flushed with pleasure.

“Absolutely, angel.”

He bit his lip happily, but said, “We still shouldn’t.”

Crowley tugged his hand a little. “C'mon, Aziraphale. It would be a service, really. It’s been sitting there for hours, going stale. Why, I bet it’s barely edible by now.”

He giggled. “You fiend.”

“And it would be helping the business, too. If Fowler receives a stale cake, he’s likely to leave a poor review, and that could harm business.”

“You’re a naughty man, Anthony Crowley.”

“And you’re an angel, Aziraphale Fell.”

Aziraphale sighed a little, smiling. “It’s very tempting, I admit, but we really shouldn’t. That would be stealing.”

Crowley gave the hand he held a gentle squeeze. “Well, if you won’t steal the cake with me, perhaps you’ll allow me to steal something else?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“A kiss.”

Aziraphale’s heart pounded in his chest and his knees felt weak. His eyes widened, but he nodded at Crowley.

Time seemed to crawl as Crowley removed his sunglasses, then leaned forward, his eyes darting from Aziraphale’s mouth to his eyes and back. Aziraphale couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears - the building could have crumbled around him and he wouldn’t have known. His eyes were locked on Crowley, and he gasped when the other man reached up and touched his face. The heat in his eyes sent a thrill down Aziraphale’s spine.

Then they were kissing, and oh, _yes_. This was what Heaven was meant to be. Choirs of angels sang a joyful chorus and it felt as if the sun were shining down on them, warming them. His blood fizzed in his veins and he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that he’d just fallen in love. 

The kiss was soft, gentle, and everything a first kiss should be. Crowley’s lips moved slowly over Aziraphale’s, not demanding, just caressing, until Aziraphale felt Crowley’s thumb caress his cheek. He whimpered a little and parted his lips, and Crowley took the invitation he presented. The next thing he knew, his bottom lip was being nibbled and his tongue was seeking out Crowley’s taste. 

He had no idea how long they stood there - he was utterly lost to sensation - but the lift dinged behind them, breaking the spell. They didn’t pull apart, though: their breaths mingled in the small space between their lips, and Aziraphale’s eyes were locked on Crowley’s. 

“I’m not ready for this evening to end,” Crowley murmured, stroking his cheek softly. “Can I come in?”

Aziraphale nodded, glancing down at Crowley’s shining and kiss-swollen lips, feeling a surge of pride that _he’d_ done that - and that he was about to do much more. 

“Please,” he whispered, looking back up into Crowley’s eyes. 

Crowley gave a little smile, then bumped his nose against Aziraphale’s in a move so affectionate, it made his heart lurch in his chest. Then Crowley pressed one more kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Let’s go, angel.”

~*~O~*~

Several hours later, Crowley emerged from Aziraphale’s flat, poking his head full of messy ginger hair out of the door and glancing up and down the corridor. His clothes were disheveled and some were missing, his glasses were gone, and he was barefoot - but he smiled. Casually, he walked down the corridor to Fowler’s doorstep, picked up the still-abandoned bakery box, then whistled a jaunty tune as he strode back to Aziraphale’s flat, where Aziraphale was in a similarly disheveled state, getting plates and forks. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you!


End file.
